


Prayer

by keepitdreamin



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Scientist Carlos (Welcome to Night Vale), cecilos - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-01
Updated: 2015-04-01
Packaged: 2018-03-20 16:30:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3657303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keepitdreamin/pseuds/keepitdreamin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Carlos prays. It's just habit really, left over from his life before Night Vale. But what happens when he stops praying?" It's a little... rambly I guess. Centered around Carlos, but Cecil comes in at the end.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Prayer

**Author's Note:**

> This was my first ever dive into writing for Welcome to Night Vale, as well as the first thing I'd actually written in a long time so...
> 
> It mostly started with the headcanon that Carlos was agnostic, but still prays, so there is some talk about agnosticism, so if that bothers you, I'm sorry.

Carlos prayed. It was just habit, really, left over from his life "Before Night Vale" as he had started calling it. The prayers had been ingrained into his very being throughout his childhood. "Give thanks before a meal, Carlos." "Bow your head, Carlos." "Let me hear your prayers before bed, Carlos." Even at a young age, he'd been a  _little_  skeptical, but you just  **didn't**  share religious doubts with Abuela. You did what she said and that was the end of the discussion.

He had never been sure if an all powerful "God" existed. He's never seen any scientific proof that He is real, but, then again, he's also never seen any scientific proof that He  **isn't**  real. But he'd never been too bothered by praying to a "God" he wasn't sure existed because he had realized early on that religion was less about believing in the actual "God" and more about being a guide to good behavior and a comfort for the masses.

And that's what it was to Carlos- a comfortable habit he could take anywhere. It added order to the chaos that was his mind. He might not know what he was feeling, he might not know what he was going to do next, he might be lost and alone, but no matter what, he had a ritual to guide his life by.

Even when he left home, he still prayed. He didn't go through any sort of rebellious phase like some college students do. He didn't feel as if he was "free;" he missed the comforts of home and the prayers kept it close in their routine.

Throughout college and grad school, he was teased a little about his prayer. His fellow scientists, who were mainly atheist, agnostic or lapsed, didn't understand how such a  _smart_  man could be religious. After spending a few years trying to explain that  _actually_ he wasn't, Carlos just gave up. Already 'that-quiet-guy' and 'that-Hispanic-looking-but-enough-ambiguity-to-make-people-too-uncomfortable-to-ask-or-make-presumptions-guy', he took on the role of 'that-religious-guy' as well. Once in the middle of an experiment that required a few of the scientists to stay all night, a fellow researcher decided to confront him and convince him that his religion was ridiculous. He spoke, rattling off lists and statistics and over simplified generalizations of the ideas in the Bible and a strong critique on Catholicism and religion in general. Carlos leaned against a counter and had to forcibly keep from rolling his eyes as the researcher (honestly, Carlos had never even talked to him before and could not recall if he had  _ever_ known his name) commented harshly on the rampant homophobia that religion spread and thus he must be homophobic. Oh how little he knew.

Carlos wasn't straight but he also wasn't gay. In his research on human sexuality, he had decided he most closely identified with either bi or pansexual, but he wasn't comfortable saying anything definitive on a matter that was anything but. Not many people knew anything of Carlos's sexuality. He wasn't in the closet; He just didn't think it was anybody's business what he decided to do- or not do- in the bedroom besides who was with him. To most people, he was just this sort of asexual amoeba. (He had thrown around that idea too, but had quickly dismissed it through an experiment on his, ahhh, 'reactions to stimulus' if you know what I mean.)

Carlos wanted to give a retort. He wanted to tell this presumptuous asshole that his Abuela, who WAS the embodiment of Catholicism- born and raised- had, when he'd spoken to her about his sexuality, only rolled her eyes and told him that whatever (Carlos pretended he didn't hear the soft mutter of  _whoever_ that followed for protection of his own mentality) he did to 'use that big brain of his and to please be careful.' But he couldn't. That didn't fit with the personae he had created. So he sat and blocked out most of the researcher's speech which must have given him enough of a bored and distant apathetic look that the asshole stormed off muttering something like, 'You can't discuss anything with religious people.' Carlos turned and let himself sigh in relief as he got back to what he did best- science.

He remained alone, partly by choice, but partly because anyone he might have been interested in was put off by one of the many labels he'd been branded with.

Then he went to Night Vale and met Cecil and things changed...

* * *

 

It wasn't until StrexCorp and the "Smiling God" that Carlos stopped praying. Though he had always directed his prayers more to the universe than any specific deity, the very idea that they may be going to that malevolent light made him shudder. And if that hadn't stopped him, it would have that the City Council, in conjunction with the Sheriff's Secret Police, had made any reference to a God during the war a crime punishable by... Well he wasn't sure how to phrase the noise the City Council, in unison, had uttered that had instantly instilled fear, the kind that burrows deep into your soul and refuses to leave until years later when it resurfaces in the middle of the night and you wake in a cold sweat.

When Carlos stopped praying, the effects weren't immediately noticeable. He was busy with science and the war and figuring out how to save his new home that any casual bystander- not that there were any casual bystanders in Night Vale. They were all very formal bystanders for the most part- wouldn't have noticed any difference. But there was. Prayer had been Carlos's constant through good and bad, and, in the ever weird, ever mutating town of Night Vale, he needed this constant more than ever. But in the midst of the imminent danger and fighting, his more flustered, more lost, self was easily dismissed and ignored.

It wasn't till long after the war was over and he was safe back home that it started standing out. Not to those bystanders of course. They were blind, how would they have seen the change? No, it wasn't a bystander who saw the difference, it was the Voice of Night Vale. The Voice, who, for once, remained silent as he observed the scientist.

Cecil didn't understand why Carlos prayed. He just didn't get the whole bowed head, clasped hands, closed eyes thing. There wasn't even any chanting or offerings on the full moon! Before Strex, Cecil had asked once, just once after dinner one night, why he hadn't immediately dug in. Carlos had stuttered out an explanation on a religious system that Cecil had absolutely no understanding of and thus had dropped it.

But after Strex, Carlos didn't bow his head or clasp his hands or do that series of gestures the Cecil never could quite understand while muttering in Spanish under his breath (Carlos later explained to Cecil that he wasn't, in fact, trying to perform a curse, just making a cross). The war had been won, Carlos was back, they could finally all live happy together in their apartment: Cecil and Carlos and Khoshekh and The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lived in Their Home and the Sheriff's Secret Police person who was disguised as a piece of furniture so well that they never could tell which it was. But even as his life seemed perfect, well as close as could be, Cecil could see Carlos unraveling.

Although Cecil didn't AGREE with  _whatever_  religion Carlos's family was- Of  _course_ not. To agree with other religions would be illegal. But to accept the religions of those you love, well, that is mandatory- he knew that he needed it. That's why Cecil, very craftily, came up with a plan to bring the matter to Carlos's attention without  _actually_  saying anything- as bringing up potentially uncomfortable situations had recently been added to the Sheriff's Secret Police's Gray list (meaning any infractions can potentially cause the speaker and all their clothes to turn gray for up to 24 hours and Cecil wasn't taking any chances. He HATED how he looked in gray).

It was a regular day in November when the plan went into action...

Carlos was seated in his study scribbling his observations on the strange green ooze that had started leaking down his wall but was concretely NOT THERE like like a lot of things in Night Vale when he heard Cecil call to him from the front room. Carlos hurriedly put away his notebook and made his way to the front. When he reached the door to the front room, he paused in confusion.

Cecil was sitting serenely cross legged with eyes closed on the floor in the center of a rather intricate and fantastic symbol drawn from, what looked to Carlos like a strange combination of blood, sugar, water, sand, and... Was that cornstarch? Cecil's eyes opened and focused on Carlos. He clapped in excitement. "Perfect! Carlos come here next to me!"

Carlos hesitated. Cecil wouldn't do anything to hurt him. Not intentionally at least... "Uh, Cecil... What's all of this?"

"Hmm?" Cecil looked around himself. "It's the annual ritual for blessing a home and thanking the invisible statue of Gonzor the Mighty in the home for the good luck of the previous year and begging forgiveness for any wrong doings that may cause misfortune in the next year." At Carlos' wide eyed look, Cecil cocked his head. "What? You've never done this?"

"Uh… No. I've done Thanksgiving." At Cecil's blank look, Carlos sighed. "I guess you don't do that then…" Cecil raised a questioning brow, prompting Carlos to continue. "Thanksgiving is a time when you give thanks for everything you have with your family and friends and have a big feast like the pilgrims…"

"Who do you give your thanks to? Gonzor the Mighty?" Cecil asked curiously.

Carlos laughed. "Uh, no. I guess it's mostly to God." at Cecil's hiss and violent flinch away (though he carefully avoided smudging the design), Carlos hurried, "NOT a smiling god. But a different God that the majority of Americans- outside of Night Vale- believe in at some level. It's more peaceful, and, in the US at least, not that big of a deal."

Cecil pondered this for a moment. "So you give this by having a really big dinner? No sacrifices?" Carlos shook head. "Could you show me that this year?"

Carlos blinked. "Yeah, I guess so..." After a moment lost in thought, he asked, "So what do we do here?"

Cecil grinned happily. "Come sit here next to me. DON'T TOUCH THE LINES!"

So when Carlos bowed his head over Thanksgiving dinner, Cecil just smiled to himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Originally published on Tumblr, Wattpad, and Fanfiction.net


End file.
